


Mad as the Mist and Snow

by wynnebat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Blizzards & Snowstorms, First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, Magic, Near Death Experiences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:47:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22475071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wynnebat/pseuds/wynnebat
Summary: In a world of liches and blizzards and kings, Sirius carries Harry to safety.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Harry Potter
Comments: 12
Kudos: 277
Collections: Lightningstar Holiday Fest





	Mad as the Mist and Snow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [This_is_your_Heichou_speaking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/This_is_your_Heichou_speaking/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [This_is_your_Heichou_speaking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/This_is_your_Heichou_speaking/pseuds/This_is_your_Heichou_speaking) in the [LightningstarHolidayFest](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LightningstarHolidayFest) collection. 



> Thanks for the great prompt! I hope you enjoy this story ❤
> 
> Title from the poem of the same name by William Butler Yeats.

Every footstep sank deep into the snow. It was a struggle to lift his feet up again each time. Sirius swayed, reaching for a low-hanging branch to steady himself while his other hand strained to support the precious cargo on his back. Harry's grip around his neck was loose and only kept growing looser, while Sirius' ragged breathing was not enough for two. Neither was the strength in his legs, nor the breath in his lungs, but it would have to be enough.

Sirius would make it be enough. 

"Your parents are going to have me killed," Sirius rasped. The cold winter air did nothing for his lungs. He leveraged the tree to push himself forward. Too much, almost, nearly falling to the snow-covered ground. Harry was a dead weight on his back. "Maybe James will do it himself. We did promise each other as kids to die dueling each other in a tourney. It's the only good death. Harry, do you hear me?"

Harry mumbled something unintelligible to Sirius, even with his mouth so close to Sirius' ear. His lips were cold.

Everything was cold.

 _Fuck,_ Sirius thought, closing his eyes and trying to summon the dredges of his magic. There was so little of it, all spent on the defeat of the lich who had plagued the now ghost town that he and Harry had arrived at only a week before. Not enough for a leap; not enough to light a candle, if one would even survive the harsh blizzard raging all around them. Given time, it would regenerate, but he had none of that either. " _Fuck_."

"Fck," Harry murmured in response, barely a word.

Sirius huffed a breath of laughter, humorless and more than he had to give. He swayed. He moved forward. He ripped the amulet from his neck and crushed it in his hand, letting the magic seep through his glove and under his skin. It was a priceless artifact that he had discovered on his travels, aiding the wearer in hearing truth from lies. It also didn't serve him now. Harry's life was on the line.

The magic burned as it entered him. The amulet's displeasure at being destroyed drove flame through Sirius' blood. It felt almost good against the cold that had entered his veins from the long trek.

Sirius closed his eyes and leapt.

When he opened them again, he saw only white.

It was enough to send a wave of despair through him. He could barely walk, let alone manage another leap. Sirius was adept at magic—one of the best in their land, and that was not his pride speaking, as there was no fucking pride in a blizzard—but magic could not solve all of life's problems. It could not raise the dead in a meaningful way, it could not make the blizzard stop, and it could not make Harry instantly whole again, not without work. And _time_. He needed just a little more time. He didn't have it. Harry was motionless against his back, no longer even complaining about the snowstorm or the injury. Any longer and the injury would have its way with him. Sirius couldn't bear to let that happen. Forget the wrath of his dearest friends; Sirius would never be able to face himself if he got Harry killed. If he was the reason for the spark of life, of joy, of everything that was fucking good in the world, to die out.

Sirius kept walking.

His clothes were made by the best guild in the capital. Threads of magic sewn into them, for protection and warmth, and Sirius leeched every thread. He didn't feel much colder when he did so. It wasn't a good sign. It wasn't his own magic and it didn't love him like his own did, but Sirius didn't need love. He just needed power. Just a little more. Just for Harry.

Cradling the magic, Sirius leapt again.

The weapon-smith would have to get in line. Sirius leapt again.

Finally, he had reached a town large enough to have a healer under its employ. The snow still raged even here, never-ending and cruel against his frozen, shivering body, but the sight of buildings gave him strength.

One foot in front of the other, Sirius walked. "Almost there, Harry."

There was no answer.

Sirius followed the faint ripples of magic in the air, nearly obscured by the snow. He wouldn't have found the house otherwise; night had begun to fall, and snow obscured what darkness did not. The house was on the small side and the door was locked. Sirius pounded on it with all his might. He had more than he thought he did. The sound reverberated through the house until the door finally opened. The healer was a young woman of hair too red for Sirius's misty vision.

Sirius pushed past her. The entry room had no fire to warm it, but the sudden change in temperature was enough for a shudder to roll through his body. Careful of the potions and herbs all around him, Sirius placed Harry onto the counter. He removed the hood from Harry's face and checked his pulse. Only then did he turn to the healer and say, "My name is Sirius Black, and my friend and I are in dire need of aid."

The woman stepped closer and gasped as she saw his companion's face. Harry's hair had frozen in place, revealing the telltale scar. "Is that..."

"Harry Potter," Sirius confirmed. He looked her in the eyes. "His life is on you now."

"I shouldn't have let you through the door. I'm not a master healer yet." She wrung her hands together before setting her shoulders and taking a deep breath. "But I'm the best chance you have. You will help me, knight?"

"I'll do everything you ask me to. If he lives, you will be able to ask for whatever payment you desire."

"If he lives," she repeated, and picked up a potion. "This one is for you. You look only a little better than he does." Almost offhand, she said, "My name is Ginny. Ginny Weasley."

Sirius didn't recognize the name. For all he knew, she could have been one of the loyalists to the old regime, the type that made trouble even two decades later. But she looked at Harry with wonder and awe, and Sirius had no argument for her words. She was the only chance he had. He drank the potion.

The chill began to fade from his bones. Under her instruction, he brought Harry to her workroom, carrying him in his arms this time. Harry's face was pale, his hair damp with melting snow and sweat. Sirius brushed it from his brow and pressed a kiss to the corner of his forehead. It was more than he should have allowed himself, but his inhibitions had fled and his rational mind had been frozen. All that was left was his heart, beating faster than his legs could ever walk.

Ginny hummed as she worked and explained the process to him, her gaze sometimes falling on the sword strapped to Sirius' belt. Sirius didn't blame her, and he also didn't take it off.

When she asked about what happened to them, he told her of fighting the lich and the bite it took from Harry. Anything else, and they could have waited out the blizzard in an abandoned home, but at this rate of infection Sirius hadn't been able to risk it. It was Harry, after all.

"You did the right thing," Ginny eventually said, soaking a rag with herbs and potion before washing the site of the lich's bite. "I've never met any royalty before. Seems strange to meet one without him knowing he met me."

Sirius huffed. "Wait for him to wake up. He'll never stop thanking you."

Hell, maybe it would be the beginning of the greatest love story of their age. Ginny was beautiful enough, talented despite her earlier caution, and dutiful enough to stay up all night to tend to Harry. James and Lily would never complain about her status in society; it may have been a long time now, but Sirius still remembered being eleven and meeting James Potter, whose clothes weren't as nice as Sirius', but whose bearing betrayed the heritage that had been stolen from him by the Dark King. It wouldn't be until a decade later that the Potters would return to the throne and their world would face the sun once more.

Harry had been quiet on the subject of love these past few years. It would do him good to fall in love, to return triumphant with tales of the lich's defeat and a beautiful young woman at his side. Sirius spent little time at the royal castle anyway; it would hardly be of any notice if he limited his time even further.

There was only one thing that mattered in this situation: "Will he live?"

Ginny finished her task, then looked over at him. Her brown eyes were warm under the light of the candles in her workroom. "He's strong. If he survives the night, then he'll make it through."

A sympathetic look all the comfort she could offer before turning her attention to Harry again. Harry lay before them on the cushions, so still and quiet. It wasn't natural. Sirius couldn't remember him ever being so motionless; every time he returned from a journey, he remembered Harry running up to him with questions and exclamations and stories of his life at the castle, always asking if he could one day come along. Sirius had no doubt that the day's events had put Harry off the idea forever; in truth, even Sirius had grown weary of life on the road, spending more and more time at the castle as Harry grew older.

Sirius wanted— too much. Warmth, sleep, comfort. He'd earned all of them years ago in his service to the true king, but there were many things that could not be earned by swinging a sword at a Dark King. Rubbing at his eyes, Sirius set up another candle and brought another bowl of water to the healer.

"You can rest," Ginny said. "There's a room upstairs. It's nothing nice, but it's comfortable."

"Here's good enough for me."

She shook her head at him. "Knights."

"Healers."

"If you stay awake for another hour, you can bring him upstairs with you."

Sirius nodded. He didn't leave Harry's side. Someone had to be there. Someone who knew Harry, who wasn't a small town's healer who recognized the scar on Harry's forehead but didn't know about the one on his arm from falling from a tree when he was seventeen. If the worst was to happen, then Sirius had to watch.

He considered sending an eagle to James, but could not imagine putting pen to paper. _Your reckless, stubborn, beautiful son almost died, and he still may._ Better to write in the morning. Sirius wasn't sure if he could hold a quill now anyway. His hands shook when offering Ginny supplies. The cold had sapped him of his strength, as had the draining of his own magic and the leeching of others' through his belongings. The only thing that kept him awake was Ginny humming under her breath. Sirius recognized the tune.

It could have been an hour or three when Ginny asked him to take Harry upstairs. Sirius did so without argument, too tired to do more than to listen and act. The room that Ginny showed him to was small but clean, with one bed and a small window to which frost and snow clung to in the dark of night. Harry's coat and traveling cloak had long been removed to facilitate access to his injury, but now Sirius removed his shoes and pulled the covers over him. When Ginny brought a second blanket, Sirius added it on top of Harry.

When there was nothing more he could do. Sirius got in on the other side. It wasn't proper to lie at a prince's side like this. It wasn't proper for Harry to nearly die, either, and to rip Sirius' heart out like no one had ever quite managed to do before.

Sirius expected for sleep to be a long time coming, but his head hit the pillow, his eyes closed, and there was nothing more.

Before opening his eyes in the morning, Sirius reached for Harry. It wasn't far. The bed was small and Sirius could feel Harry's body heat before reaching his skin. His arm was warm and it was a marvel, like something brought from myth to life, like a gift from on high. Sirius would never again be able to take Harry's life for granted. Finding his pulse was no longer necessary, but Sirius did it anyway, waiting until he felt the thrum of blood and magic in Harry's veins.

In turn, Harry's arm moved, and his hand gripped Sirius' with renewed strength. "You could've just asked if I was alive."

Sirius opened his eyes. It was daytime and light filtered through the window layered with snow, bringing a fuzzy glow to the room. Harry was propped up against the headboard, alive if not quite back at full health. There was no letter to write.

"Needed to check for myself," Sirius said, coughing once to rid the rasp from his throat. With any luck, he hadn't come down with fever after the trek. Without luck, well. There was an entire healer's workroom just downstairs. Sirius gripped Harry's hand and let himself feel the warmth of his skin, the callouses and the softer skin of his wrist. "You have no idea how glad I am to see you alive. I thought you were going to die."

He let go of Harry's hand to give himself leverage to sit up in the bed. He noticed that Harry had a different tunic on, and that there was now a small table next to the bed with an empty vial and a partially eaten breakfast tray.

"Ginny, she brought breakfast. She's nice," Harry said, offering Sirius a plate. "No one's called me royal highness in months."

Ah, romance of the century. The bards would be singing songs about it soon. "She's a good healer. Better than I expected when I saw the size of the town. How do you feel?"

Harry gave him a lopsided smile. "Alive. Good. I don't remember much from yesterday, but I remember you. You carried me to safety. You got me out of the lich's den."

"Do you remember the battle?"

Harry shook his head.

"Shame. The lesson would have sunk in better with practical experience, but I'll say it again: _this_ is what happens when you lose track of your sword." He pointed his loaf of bread at Harry, toward the area of injury. He would have Ginny take another look at it soon for his peace of mind. "You could have died if I weren't there."

"Of course you were there," Harry said in reply, stubborn to a fault. "Where else would you have been? I remember your sword and your shout and—" He made a face. "—the cold. I remember the cold. I won't forget that quickly." 

"I had to get you to safety. I was lucky. Very, very lucky." Any less magic and he wouldn't have been able to make that leap.

"You're as drained as I am and you don't have the excuse of a lich's bite."

"Just that of killing the lich and leaping the way here."

Harry gave him a sympathetic look. "I saw your sword. It's burnt and dead. I'm sorry. I know it was your favorite."

"I can get another sword," Sirius replied, waving away Harry's words. It was all too easy when the memory of last night still lay heavy on his mind. Later, he would give himself leave to be surly about the priceless family sword now ruined, leeched of magic and only good for a scrap heap. "I can't get my head back if I were to get the crown prince killed."

"Dad wouldn't kill you," Harry said, rolling his eyes.

"You're right. Your mother would."

Harry laughed, and Sirius set the tray aside because he needed no gift of foresight to know Harry's mind. Harry leaned forward and hugged him tightly. Sirius returned the embrace, hands clenching the rough fabric of Harry's borrowed shirt and pressing his face against his hair. He smelled like travel and half an apothecary, and so fucking alive that relief felt like a vice's grip around Sirius' heart.

"Thank you, Sirius." Harry's tone was heartfelt. "As soon as we're fully healed, let's go home. I miss the castle."

"Me, too," Sirius admitted. "No liches there."

"Except Lockhart," Harry huffed, and loosened his grip.

Reluctantly, Sirius did the same. Seeing Harry wasn't as good as touching him and having the tactile confirmation that he was alive, but it would have to be good enough. He may have tried something different had he realized Harry's intentions this time around. Harry didn't go far, closing the distance between them to kiss him on the lips.

Sirius let himself have a moment. It turned into two, then three. It threatened to turn into more, and it was that threat that had Sirius pulling away. Gently, because that was what one did with princes, and with sons of one's best friend, and with men one was so deeply in love with that there wasn't any breath left in his lungs. 

"I—" Harry began, and stopped.

Sirius finished the thought for him. He drew up a smile. "You're not the first person to thank me with a kiss. You won't be the last."

"Why can't I be the last?"

"Gratitude fades pretty damn fast."

Harry sat back, giving him the space that Sirius desperately needed. Sirius tried to be grateful that Harry's interest was short-lived. As per his words, Sirius wasn't grateful for long.

"C'mon," Sirius cajoled. "There are prettier people out there to kiss. There's one in this very house."

Harry crossed his arms and stared him down. Sirius felt like doing the same, but decided that was too childish. Better to stuff his mouth with bread and pretend like he couldn't feel the ghost of Harry's lips.

"I fell in love three years ago," Harry said, simply, as though it was a law of magic instead of the love life of the crown prince. "It took me a year to say anything. When I told my parents, they asked me to wait two years to be sure. I think Mum was still holding out hope, but Dad, he knew."

Sirius took a breath. "You have more than just your father's hair. Why me?"

It took Harry a moment to reply. "As long as I can remember, your presence was like the very best birthday gift—and it often was that, literally, when you came 'round the castle just in time for my birthday, with a bag of presents that didn't matter as much as the fact that _you_ were there. Each time, I wanted you to stay, and that didn't change when I grew up. I kept wanting more, not less." He threaded his fingers through his hair. "I want you. I told my parents their two years were up before we left for this journey. Every day, I kept thinking I'd finally tell you the truth, and every night I kept kicking myself for not spitting it out."

"And then you went and almost got yourself killed to keep from saying it," Sirius huffed, unable to help himself. He couldn't look away from the green of Harry's eyes, from the way his dark eyelashes framed them. "You're supposed to marry a beautiful princess, not an old knight."

"I'm supposed to be happy," Harry countered. He took Sirius' hand in his once more. Sirius let him. "You are, too."

Sirius looked down at their joined hands, then up again. He was no monk, to deny himself everything he ever wanted. "I do love you. I've been trying not to for so long." He watched a smile make its way onto Harry's lips, light and free, and this time around Sirius pulled him in for a kiss. It began as a moment and when it threatened again to turn into forever, Sirius let it. Much later, he murmured almost against Harry's lips, "I told James you were going to grow up spoiled rotten."

"Shut up," Harry said, huffing. "What are you going to do about it?"

Sirius kissed him again. And again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> This story will be anonymous until February 1. Check out the other holiday fest stories [here](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LightningstarHolidayFest) and the Sirry discord [here](https://leather-and-sex-ficfest.tumblr.com/post/184994735625/join-the-lightningstar-discord-server)!


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